The 8x10 of Darcy O'Dell Ch. 02

I eased back down on the chair, still inside her. Immense clenching of my muscles had barely kept my own cum from spilling into her.

Gina caressed her breasts and played with her nipples, trying to catch her breath and prolong the orgasmic sensations. She moaned each time I flexed my cock. It was time to move onto the grand finale before it was too late.

"I'm so close to spewing, honey. We'd better do the tit fuck now."

"OK, you relax a bit. My pussy is still on fire."

Good idea. The longer I could cool down, the longer I could draw out the tit fuck. When she finally uncoupled, I raised up the seat of the office chair and adjusted the back to its maximum reclining position. A slight repositioning would allow me to see her picture on the monitor while I fucked her boobs.

"Your turn to lean back, babe."

Gina laid another towel out on the floor in front of the chair and handed me the massage oil.

"I guess you're the masseur today. Take your time. Be thorough," she joked, grabbing her vibrator and a hand towel. "If you're that close to coming, I'll should get going on my edging while you oil me up."

The unmistakable scent of coconut oil filled my nostrils as I poured some in my hand, a scent that now presaged intense sexual activity: breast fondling, tit fucking, ass play, and sweet hand jobs to completion. Gina lay back on the chair and got comfortable.

I spread the oil over her shoulders, arms, and the sides of her torso, avoiding her erogenous zones—at first. As if I were a legitimate masseur who would never let his hands stray over the forbidden areas of his female clients. The sighs that escaped from her open lips told me she knew better, that I wouldn't be able to resist touching her heavy breasts as they spread out to the sides, settling next to her upper arms. Gina powered up her vibrator, adding a subtle thrumming to the soundscape.

My oily hands moved down to her waist and hips where she had placed a hand towel across her mound and pussy, initiating one of our favorite role playing games: the therapeutic massage that somehow slowly gets out of control. We usually flip a coin to see who gets to be on the receiving end. Gina assumed the persona of a spa resort customer on theRiviera di Ponente, complete with a strong Italian accent.

"Signor Jeff, your hands feel wonderful, so relaxing. But I have an ache down below, under my towel. I know you would not dare to touch me inappropriately since you are a gentleman and a professional, so may I supplement your treatment? I have a special instrument that can release the tension from that very private area."

"Sì signora, certamente. We can work together as a team. Feel free to respond to your bodily needs at the places where I cannot go."

I moved down by her feet and began oiling her calves and thighs. A few flicks of her thumb intensified the strength of the vibe as she positioned it underneath the towel. I watched the wide, flat tip slip easily past her swollen pussy lips, causing her to cry out when it grazed against her G-spot.

I carefully oiled and massaged her soft inner thighs, transfixed by the sight of her hand working the vibe slowly in and out of her wet kitty. Gina twitched and moaned as she teased the parts of her vagina that would push her toward a release yet being careful enough to keep the process under control.

"Signora, allow me to soothe the areas that were exposed while you were swimming topless this morning," I offered, as my hands roamed across her belly and up toward her breasts."

Gina turned her head toward me, opened her eyes partway, and nodded her approval. I poured more coconut oil directly on her boobs and gently massaged it in, stroking from waist to shoulders, pushing her breasts back toward each other on each pass, concentrating on the sides, eventually adding the nipples.

My mind flashed back to the numerous erotic massage videos we had watched together where the masseur takes increasing liberties with the woman's body. I had always been fascinated—particularly with those involving very busty models like Gina—as the masseur's hands find endless ways to stroke and squeeze each of their slick, glistening breasts. The way they wobble and slip and swell under his relentless manipulations. Like I was doing to Gina right then.

"Mio caro amico¸ you know sometimes I have dreams. About getting a massage by you, like we are doing now. Dreams I am ashamed to talk about. Ones where I tempt you to do things you should not. To put your hands where it is only proper for my husband to touch. But in the dream I cannot help myself. I encourage you, actually beg to you. To touch me like a lover. To get me so excited I completely lose control. Oh, your hands are ... are ..."

Gina's breathing was becoming more erratic as her body tensed and writhed under the insistent pulse of the vibrator. Several times she had edged dangerously close to an orgasm, only to pull back at the last possible moment.

"Oh, fuck, Jeff! I almost lost it that time. I can't believe I didn't come just now. It's definitely time foruna spagnola. Quick, while I can still control myself."

I swung my leg over the chair so I could straddle Gina. My cock was still rigid, shiny with her juices from our standing doggy fuck in front of the mirror. As I pushed her big, slippery boobs around my leaking cock, I had to chuckle: a "Spanish". It seems like each country refers to a tit fuck by the name of another country—except in America.

"Oh, baby, your cock feels hot between my tits. So sexy when you do me like this ... right up near my face. I know you're close. Tell me how close ... so I can come with you. I feel like I'm going to squirt this time. Are you going to wet me down while I do it?"

I could feel that delicious warm tingling begin to spread from my prostate as I savored each final thrust, my cock gliding between Gina's incredible, warm, oily tits. Just seconds away now. It was so emotional. Like the first time we did a tit fuck but more profound. All the crazy from the doctor's visit and the incredible feelings of relief just magnified the intense pleasure surging through my genital area.

"Jeff, I want you to do a tribute." Gina somehow managed to throw in a twist just before I erupted between her boobs.

"Like those pervs on the Internet do. Where they jack off all over the picture of some hot celebrity or porn actress. I want you do one on me. On Coleen Collins."

I glanced over at the computer monitor where Ms. Collins' brassiere-clad, youthful bosom was still on display. I hadn't really focused on looking at it while I was doing the tit fuck, but it was enough to push me over the edge. I warned Gina.

"Quick, grab your cock! Jerk it all over me. On my face, my tits. Do a tribute on me, Jeff. Make me feel dirty."

And so I did, mere inches away from her. Incredible blasts of hot semen shooting everywhere, all over my darling wife. As soon as the second rope streaked across her cheek, she let out an otherworldly sound: half grunt, half scream. I couldn't see it, but I heard the intense stream of her cum soaking the towel on the floor in front of her.

My orgasm burned sweet and hot all through my core, but it almost caused me to keel over. I quickly braced myself against the chair with one hand while used my other to drain the final contents of my tribute onto Gina. I finally had to ease down onto the floor to keep from collapsing on her.

Gina was splayed across the chair with a dazed, satisfied look on her face. Her boobs were slumped to the side, oily and covered with copious splatters of cum. It was dripping down her face and neck, too.

She could barely muster the energy to shut off her vibe. The amount of her squirt that didn't reach the towel was dribbling down her legs onto her feet. Her pussy lips were swollen and wet, still clutching the vibe as her hands fell to the side. She asked me to do something she's never wanted to do before.

"Jeff, I want you to take a picture of this. With your cum all over my boobs. Your tribute to Coleen Collins."

I was frozen in place. There was one rule that Gina had in the bedroom—or the home office: no pictures or videos of her nude or having sex. Firm, inviolable, no exceptions, no discussion. Period. She lived by the maxim "if there's no picture in the first place, then it can't get out there on the Internet."

She's told me of numerous boyfriends and her ex-husband pleading with her to pose for a nude picture or set up a camera to record them having sex. Just for the two of them to look at. No one will be able to tell it's you. Her policy went back to the analog days of film cameras and videotape. And especially now in today's digital world. Don't even ask.

"I know what I've said before about this. I'm making a one-time exception today. Get the camera. Do you have any data cards you don't use anymore? One we can grind up later?"

"Yes, I'll get one."

I pulled the camera out of the drawer. The batteries were weak but functional. I slipped in an old 16 MB data card I'd wiped clean recently. She took off her rings and other jewelry to make sure no one would recognize them.

"Take a few shots of my torso. Flash and no-flash. Get some showing the vibe in my pussy. OK, now let me push my boobs together so you can get a few like that. Can you get the jizz on my neck and cheek without showing my face?"

I took about twenty pictures. I had no idea how this was going to play out. Would we take a quick look at them then delete everything? Gina was wiping her hands on the towel.

"Let me have the camera."

What?

"Jeff, you look surprised. Did you think this was a one-way street? I need some cock pictures for my gallery."

That caught me off guard. "But I don't have the man meat like those pictures you have."

"Right now, you look perfect. You're at full length but pointing down, as if you were flaccid. And a nice drop of cum dangling on the end. Slick with oil and my nectar. A Kodak Moment if I ever saw one. Give it here."

I handed the camera over and tried to clear my head. I'd never had a woman ask to photograph my genitalia. Especially in an obvious post-coital state. Gina scooted over and snapped away. She popped the data card out of the camera and told me to bring it up on my computer.

I was stunned seeing my spent penis filling up the monitor screen; it was lewd and disorienting. Gina sat next to me. We scrolled through the photos and narrowed it down to a few. A torso shot of her, boobs spilling to each side, covered with spunk; a similar shot with her boobs pushed together; a close-up of her sullied neck and cheek; and one showing the vibe splitting open her wet, swollen quim. She picked two cock shots of me.

"OK, copy the pics of me to your hard drive. Where you keep the boob cum shot photos. Rename them so they blend in with the others. Give me the card, and I'll do the same with your dick pictures."

I still couldn't believe she was allowing this. Heck, not just allowing it but instigating it. Leading the project.

I used a screen capture utility to break the traceability to the camera. I saved the pictures of Gina to my hard drive, naming them innocuously like she suggested. Just four more among countless "wet mams" images. She followed the same procedure with her pictures of my cock.

"Jeff, I'm going to delete everything from the data card now. OK ... done. Now drop the card in the shredder, just to be safe."

I taped the card to an envelope to make sure it went through completely. Two seconds later it was destroyed. Damn! The dirty girl in Gina can really surprise me sometimes.

We reviewed the pictures again on our monitors. They looked like the thousands of other hardcore amateur photos we'd seen online. A dangerous, wicked streak of arousal snapped through me, knowing that wasmy cum on the big boobs of the woman on the computer. A tribute to my wife. On her body—not a picture of her. It made the Colleen Collins lingerie image seem positively chaste by comparison.

Gina put her arms around me as we stared at the pictures of her 'pearl necklace'.

"You're the only man I've trusted enough to even think about doing something like this. I surprised myself with how far I was willing to go.

"So now you have the PG-13 Colleen Collins picture to look at on your computer—and an 8x10 original print, too. Plus, you have the XXX-rated pictures of an anonymous, big-tit MILF with cum all over her and a vibe up her wetfica. You'd better close that down now. I might make you do me again."

PART 4: Our New Clothes

The next day, before we left to go shopping at Macy's, I told Gina about the three Belmont people who had produced the fashion layout. She thought it was a great story. Gina took another look at the pictures.

"This Markham chick was a Burger King cook, and now she's an art director? Good for her.

"I can't tell if I should recognize Townshend from this picture. It could be any gray-haired dude with a camera.

"Sothis is the great Darcy ... why does it say Kate?"

I could tell Gina was processing some female competitive algorithm in her head.

"I sorta see why you were hung up on her. She's my age? Hmmm. I guess she's still married to this Kleinfelter guy. Hyphenating your name ... those poor kids—if she has any."

Gina held out theGQ for me to see. "Does she look much different than the last time you saw her?" I took the magazine from her and closed it. Not gonna take that bait.

"Gina, I chose not to look at her picture. Sure, I have some curiosity, but that was a long time ago. I want to keep the past in the past. Where it belongs."

Correct response, Jeff. I could see Gina's body language subtly change to a more relaxed posture. She pegged Mink as a lesbian so she never asked about her. Gina thought I was joking when I later confessed to being with Mink for a few months. I let it go.

* * *

We both were quite pleased with our wardrobe additions when we got them back from the tailor. Gina thought the suit was divine, and I felt like I was ready to go onThe Tonight Show. Her dress was breathtaking, but it never felt like she was showing off. I can't really explain it—the right combination of body confidence, fashion taste, and the poise from her years as a model.

The dress was a simple tank style in lipstick-red georgette. It had a scoop neckline and a breezy drape that caressed her figure. A single pleat in front created a high-low hem that fluttered around her legs asymmetrically, exposing a glimpse of her left thigh. She wore a balconette bra to display her bosom to maximum effect. And it was all topped off by her thick mane of shiny, black hair cascading down to her shoulders.

When she wore the dress the first time, it was all I could do to keep from bending her over, lifting the back of the skirt, and taking her like an animal—before we left the house. When I told her this over our after-dinner coffee, she gave me a smile and a wink. Her hands went under the table. After a few subtle shifts in her position, I felt the brush of lace from her panties being placed in my hand.

Not to be outdone, I carefully folded them into a tight ball and brought them up to my nose and inhaled deeply.

"If you told me to, I'd kneel down under the table and eat you out. Right now."

"You would, wouldn't you? But I like this restaurant. I want to come back here again. That's the only reason I'm not going to call you on it."

Gina picked up her dinner knife and toyed with its bulbous end. I knew she was bluffing—she'd never do something crude like getting herself off with the cutlery in public. Or would she?

"I'm ready. Let's take a walk," she said as she set the knife down.

We stepped out onto the street and headed toward our car. We had chosen a restaurant in a less traveled part of Los Angeles, in one of the many independent towns that are outside the L.A. city limits. The area was so laid back that there was free parking in the same block. Gina took my hand and smiled. We passed the car and kept walking. We both knew something was going to happen; but I don't think either of us knew what, where, or when.

The businesses in the small commercial area were mostly closed except for the restaurant, a gas station, and a few boutiques. A block past the main thoroughfare we found ourselves strolling through a residential neighborhood dominated by Craftsman and Spanish houses. Old-style street lamps gave off a nostalgic glow. If you took away the modern cars, it could have been back before WWII. Only a few other pedestrians were out for a walk. It was very quiet. Holding hands was something we hadn't done much in recent years. It harkened back to the first intimacy that young couples share.

We crossed the street and headed for the small city park in the next block. On the weekends it's full of joggers, families, dogs, and Frisbee players. I took Gina down a short path that led to the first picnic pavilion. We stepped inside and positioned ourselves at one of the corner posts. Between the two of us we would see someone approaching from any direction with ample time to pause our activities. It was fairly dark underneath the pavilion anyway.

We kissed and caressed each other hungrily and exchanged words of love. I drew my fingers across her dress where her cleavage disappeared into the fabric. My other hand wandered around her hip toward her bare thigh. Gina kept her moans as quiet as she could.

"I've got so much sexual tension built up," she whispered. "I feel like I could explode."

Knowing her panties were still in my pocket, I reached under her dress and swiped my fingers along her labia—and was rewarded with a thick coating of her juices. A wicked impulse made me hold my wet fingers up to her lips as I leaned in for a kiss. Gina let out a barely muffled yelp. We shared a sloppy tongue kiss and licked her arousal from my fingers at the same time.

As I pressed my hardness against her, she flailed her hands against my back, desperately trying to calm the sexual energy overflowing inside her body. My inhibitions were plummeting. I ran my fingers through her long hair and whispered a command.

"Lift your skirt."

She failed to comply. Her fear of someone seeing us doing more than kissing struggled against her need for release. Or maybe she was pretending she didn't understand. I forcefully repeated my demand in Italian, grabbing her hair and holding her head firmly against the pavilion's support post. Gina liked it a little rough sometimes.

"Non capisci l'inglese? Alzati la gonna!"

Her eyes were wild with lust and discomfort at the same time. She slowly raised the hem of her new dress. I wanted her legs spread wider.

"Allarga le gambe."

Gina whimpered softly as she opened her stance. I leaned in to whisper in her ear, keeping my tight grip on her hair.

"Looks like you're losing you fear of being seen. I guess what's burning between your legs is clouding your judgment."

My free hand glided along the skin below her navel, inches from her mound. Her lower body began to tremble. My hand went between her legs and touched the musky dampness that leaked from her pussy. Gina moaned and thrashed about.

"Is there a problem, honey? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, Jeff, non ti fermare."

"So you want me to give it to you? Really give it to you? Put my fingers in your pussy?"

"Sì dai, Jeff, fallo. Con le dita. Nella cosina."

Once I began finger fucking her, she moved one hand up to rub and squeeze her breasts. Gina pinched her nipples aggressively, right through the fabric of her dress and brassiere. Her anxiety about public sex was losing out to her accelerating arousal.